


Memories of Erised

by nebula_vs_supernova



Series: Fandom Oneshots and Drabbles and Everything in Between [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Complete, Denial, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mirror of Erised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebula_vs_supernova/pseuds/nebula_vs_supernova
Summary: Now that his victory is eminent, doubt has replaced his resolve. The Dark Lord seeks to reassure himself of his own desires.MEANWHILEThomas just wants to be with his sister and kind-of-more-than-a-best-friend, but it doesn't look like that's happening any time soon what with death getting in the way and all.ORI have no idea. It was like three in the morning when I wrote this.





	Memories of Erised

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I really hate the way the values of each House is portrayed in "Harry Potter".
> 
> Thus the entire second part.

It was hidden away, forgotten on the third floor. Covered with thin linen and thick dust, the tarnished gold and clouded glass seemed none too impressive, but it was necessary. For him, it was something he needed to erase his doubt, so the second that Severus ascended to his new position, he snuck up to where the mirror resided.

It was like watching someone else as his hand streched out towards the linen -- cold, pale, and as skeletal as death. The material felt prickly and strange under his fresh skin as he pulled the fabric away in a cloud of dust. Beneath it, the mirror was covered so thickly in grime that he couldn't see beyond it. With the sleeve of his cloak, he scrubbed at the grime, gagging as it came off thickly on the velveteen fabric. It ruined his cloak, but that was no matter.

His eyes came away with his hand as he dropped the limb to his side, staring at the appendages on his hand. They didn't very well resemble fingers as they seemed to have an inconsistent amount of joints and no nails at all. More to the point, they were _ugly_ \-- just as the rest of him had become. Every bit of him was unnatural, _strange_.

So he looked up at the mirror. He'd only seen into it once before, and he'd seen _wonderful_ things. Now though, he looked up and saw a horrible reminder. In the mirror, he saw a man, tall, grinning and adorned in riches. Black hair was shining and healthy atop his head, and his dark eyes twinkled with success. Figures behind the man were still obscured by grime, but it was evident that they were fawning over the man -- a success, a beauty, and a man respected above all others. Behind the man, there was nothing, and he wasn't daft enough to not know what that had meant.

Anger sparked through his blood at the sight. Before, the mirror had shown his victory, him rising above his enemies with Muggles waiting on him hand and foot. Now...now it showed something so simple. Something he had once possessed. It showed a handsome man -- a respected, loved, and successful man. More importantly, it showed a whole man. Previously, looming in the background of his victory had been _eight_ \-- _not seven_ , as there should have been -- shadows of himself grinning manically as blood dripped down their faces. Only the youngest slightly resembled the man who now stood before him.

The Dark Lord screamed. His deformed hand balling up, arm drawing back and launching forward, and then repeating the movement until the glass finally shattered under his fist into millions of glittering pieces from which Tom Riddle still grinned up at him from. With a snarl, Voldemort stomped the piece that he was staring at, shattering it trifold again before turning in an absolutely dramatic flare of his cloak and storming from the room, the school. The mirror _had_ to be wrong.

*

  
Thomas was undoubtedly _lost_. Typical of him, really. He _would_ be the person to run off while everyone else was trying to figure out the death toll of the battle, but Thomas was young -- only fourteen -- so he figured that he was excused. They could yell at him later for running like a coward as soon as the battle ended. He was allowed that much after watching his sister and best friend fall to Death Eaters.

Slamming the heavy door shut behind him, Thomas fell against it, tears blurring his vision as he sobbed. The collar of his yellow and black sweater that Celine had knitted him last winter was soaked from where he had been wiping away his tears, and the hem was wet with Sissy's blood. Fitting enough that she'd spend months on it only for her own blood to stain it beyond anything he could fix. So very typical.

The stone floor was hard and cold, and Thomas wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Actually, the only place he wanted to be was sneaking into the Ravenclaw dormitory to visit Celine, and he _could_ , but Celine wouldn't be there, nor would she ever be there again. The thought sent Thomas into a fresh bout of sobs until he remembered Ian.

He went quiet for a second thinking of his friend-and-kind-of-more. They'd just been figuring things out between themselves -- in between the entire "you-watch-my-back-I'll-watch-yours" thing that kept the two safe from the likes of the Carrows. No one stood up to Ian because his daddy was a powerful wizard and his mummy was the best healer in the universe...and probably because they were two of the Dark Lord's top lieutenants.

Ian, though. Ian was good and pure right down to his bones. He may have been a true-blooded Slytherin, but if anyone in the world was good, Ian was. Thomas remembered the nights they spent up in the Astronomy Tower whispering about how Ian wanted to change the way that the Wizarding World handled orphans and domestic issues. Thomas remembered listening and thinking "this boy could be just like half of the Slytherin House, but he wants to take care of people instead" and being awed. Thomas remembered sitting next to Ian on the ledge that the late professor Dumbledore had fallen from and leaning over to lay his head on Ian's shoulder as his friend bandaged his arm while ranting about how much he wanted to _destroy_ Thomas's parents for forcing him to inflict that kind of pain on himself for forgetting to clean up after dinner.

Celine didn't dare patch Thomas's wounds because then she'd get another set of scars saying "I vow never to help Tommy get out of his punishment." Thomas understood. He had the same scars lacing up the inside of his calf from when he tried to help one of the House Elves make dinner, and on his shoulder from not cleaning his room one summer.

Still, now Thomas was fairly certain that he'd lost his first love without telling him _and_ his sister in one fell swoop. He was also fairly certain that Mum and Da were still kicking. In general, Thomas was lost, but crying did no good. Pulling the sweater up higher, Thomas wiped he tears away on a dry patch of the sweater and glanced around the room.

Thousands of tiny shards sparkled on the floor from the moonlight and firelight gleaming through the window overlooking what remained of the Quidditch pitch. In his grief-stricken haze, Thomas was struck with how beautiful it all was. He stumbled to his feet, the soles of his shoes crunching at the broken bits of mirror as his weight shifted over them. Then, his eyes caught one of the bigger pieces.

From within the mirror, a handsome boy smiled and waved, his dark hair flopping over equally dark eyes. Thomas knelt in front of the shard and noticed the boy in the mirror mouthing something.

"Hullo?" Thomas asked, his voice thick and hoarse.

"Hi," the boy in the mirror mouthed back.

Thomas blinked drowsily, startled but far too tired for his own good. "Are you bored up here alone?" He asked, his fingers tracing the sharp edges of the mirror.

The boy nodded with a brilliant smile, and Thomas nodded back. "I'll take you with me then," he said, resolved as he picked up the mirror and rose to his full height. "What's your name?"

"Tom," the boy replied mutely.

"What a coincidence. Mine too," Thomas said monotonously. "Pleasure to meet you, Tom," he said, shoving the mirror into one of the interior pockets of his robe.

Now, he really did need to return before... _someone_ , anyone, started to worry. There really was no one to worry for him though, but Thomas supposed that that was fine. No one needed to look out for him. Not Mum  or Da or Celine or Ian. Thomas would be _just fine_ on his own. He would do fine, and he'd indulge his curiosity about the boy in the mirror -- Tom.

Stiff-backed and with a stubbornly-high chin, Thomas resolved to face the Grand Hall -- now strewn with the corpses of students, members of the Order, and Death Eaters all mixed together. He ought to find Celine  and Ian's bodies for them. They deserved that much. He steeled himself, praying his legs didn't fail.


End file.
